


Flare Animo: Redux

by PRD



Series: Flare Animo [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Minecraft diaries - Fandom, aphmau - Fandom
Genre: (one (1) brief flashback), (sorta) - Freeform, Angst and Porn, Bruises, Burns, Canon Compliant, Childhood Trauma, Coming In Pants, Cross-Posted on Wattpad, Deepthroating, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Angst, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Injury Recovery, M/M, Maggot Therapy, Maggots, Major Character Injury, Massage, Mild Gore, Minecraft Diaries - Aphmau, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Oral Sex, POV Third Person Limited, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Stitches, Swearing, blowjob, body horror??, he's had 5+ years of bitter ass famine and he's thirsty, no gag reflex, thank you for enabling my Garroth habit, uh oh Garroth said "shit"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:08:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21686551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PRD/pseuds/PRD
Summary: After everything that has happened in Phoenix Drop, Garroth needs to unwind. Zoey asks him to tend to Laurance's wounds, and he seizes on the opportunity.Or;Flare Animo, from Garroth's perspective.Takes place within Season 1 Episodes 57 "The Baby Showers PT. 3", and 58 "Smile".For the love of God, read the tags.
Relationships: Garroth Ro'Meave & Laurance Zvahl, Garroth Ro'Meave/Laurance Zvahl
Series: Flare Animo [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1513256
Comments: 2
Kudos: 95





	Flare Animo: Redux

**Author's Note:**

> MCD Garroth is just as dtf as Mystreet Garroth, he's just better at hiding it.

Garroth bumps the door open with his elbow, balancing the pitcher, basin, linens, and dressings on his hip. He’s humming, heart beating at a reasonable pace for the first time in what feels like an eternity. He has had a spring in his step since Zane’s letter arrived informing him he was off the hook. Or maybe hitch? Oh, that is clever; Lady Aphmau will love that bit of wordplay.

Glancing at Laurance, sitting in a chair by the window, he pushes the door closed behind him, making sure it clicks. He crosses over to him. Laurance must have heard him, because he looks up, just to the right of Garroth’s face.

“Laurance.” His eyes flick onto Garroth’s.

“Garroth,” he says, in a very formal tone.

Garroth laughs. He has gotten his sense of humor back nearly in full, at least. “I was hoping your ordeal would have tempered you, but it appears I was wrong.”

He smiles. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, bro. What is it?”

Deciding on the table to his right, Garroth sets the basin down, and lays out his materials on the towel: bandages, a sponge, the bowl of Zoey’s honey and herbs salve, various other bottles, needle and thread. “. . . I’m here to check your wounds. Well, the physical ones,” he explains as he pours about half the water into the basin, and cleans his knife. As he sheathes it, he prays he won’t have to use it. He takes up the basin, towel, linens, and salve and brings it over to Laurance’s chair.

“You?” Laurance asks as Garroth sets the sponge in the water.

That was rude. “I do know basic wound care, Laurance,” Garroth says as he begins to remove the wrappings around Laurance’s bicep. It’s sticking, and Laurance hisses. “How bad are they?”

Garroth looks at the soaked cotton in his hand, and at the other wounds. The burn on his lower left leg is the worst: yesterday several layers of skin had come off, leaving a swathe of raw, pale pink flesh, a gory contrast to his dark skin. Tearing his eyes from the stained bandage, Garroth squeezes the sponge out over the deep cut on Laurance’s arm. “It’s. . . it’s disgusting, to be perfectly honest. Various oozing fluids. Not the worst injuries I have seen, by far—” he pushes the memory of the sucking wound in Brendon’s chest back down— “but certainly extensive.” Patting the edges dry, he adds: “This one should air out for a few hours, let it scab up, but this one.” Cautiously, Garroth unwraps the bandage on his lower arm. “It’s dry, which is not ideal for one this deep. Not too deep, or else it would not hurt, but. . . it will certainly scar.”

He applies honey to it, picking off a piece of dead tissue before placing a damp dressing on it. Garroth moves on to the stitches in Laurance’s left arm and is pleased to find the swelling has gone down. He wipes it with the sponge before rewrapping it.

“I’m going to touch your face now.” Garroth gently wipes the bruise on Laurance’s cheek. Then he checks his eyes, asking, “Can you see this?” as he moves his finger back and forth in front of his blue eyes. Laurance shakes his head bitterly. Garroth continues wiping his face, remembering how clear his skin always was, and makes a displeased moue at Laurance’s split lip, and wipes away a bit of blood that seeped out when he smiled. His lips are still somewhat cracked, but he looks far better than when Garroth found him, teetering between consciousness and death. His pulse had been thready, and though Laurance could never be described as fair or pale, there was something sickly to his skin; a hollowness to his cheeks, exhaustion written in his limbs.

“Garroth, what are you doing.” Laurance’s blank eyes point down at Garroth’s thumb, then lift to look him in the eye, one eyebrow raised in suspicion. Heat blooms on Garroth’s face, and he lowers his hand. “N-nothing, nothing.” Garroth clears his throat, ignoring the drop of sweat crawling down his neck. “Could— could you remove your shirt, please?”

Laurance raises his eyebrow higher but does as Garroth asks. Garroth walks behind him, and presses on the back of Laurance’s neck, pushing him forward. “Lean forward, I need to see your back.” Garroth peels several large flakes of skin off Laurance’s back. The skin is hot, and Garroth dips the sponge in the bowl and starts to wash Laurance’s back. Laurance breathes a sigh of relief. He watches the water run down in rivulets between his shoulder blades, and bead on the edges of the burn.

Garroth follows the lines of Laurance’s ribs to his chest and runs his finger across the stitches on his stomach. The edges have begun to seal, but there’s some concerning drainage. Hm. He washes it just in case. He can feel Laurance’s stomach muscles under his skin and as he tenses and shifts his weight they solidify for a moment under Garroth’s hand. Laurance is still thin from his time in the Nether and the six bundles of muscle are very prominent. Garroth swallows, trying not to feel jealous.

Garroth picks up Laurance’s shirt, handing it to him. Now all that’s left is. . . oh. “Ah, Laurance?”

“Yes?”

Garroth hesitates to ask something so crass, but it  _ is _ for Laurance’s own health. “I. . . need you to remove your pants.”

Laurance blinks. “Uh, why?”

“The wounds on your legs, and,” Garroth coughs discreetly, “. . .the rest.”

Realization. “Oh. Sure, yeah.” He chuckles softly, standing up on legs as lanky and unsteady as a new foal’s. His hand is warm and strong on Garroth’s shoulder, though—there’s a surprising strength of grip in his long fingers. Stretching to his full height for a moment, he’s taller than Garroth. Garroth averts his gaze as Laurance undoes his belt. He will have to look soon, but for now, he gives his friend privacy. Which reminds him; the blinds are open. Laying Laurance’s hand on the back of the chair, he strides over and closes them.

“Garroth?!” Laurance’s normally calm voice breaks halfway through his name. Garroth rushes to calm him, putting his hand on Laurance’s shoulder.

“I’m here; I was simply closing the blinds.”

The tension in his body shifts, and he touches Garroth’s arm. “O-of course.”

Garroth’s hand follows Laurance’s shoulder to his back, down his spine, and rests on his waist. His feet fall into a brief dance step, one foot directly in front of the other as he walks around Laurance. He wonders if Laurance is a good dancer. He certainly has the legs for it.

Garroth’s musings are cut short by the bloodstain on Laurance’s left leg. Oh. Right. He is being a terrible healer. Although, perhaps. . .

Laurance’s undergarments will need to come off if Garroth is to execute this stratagem. He pulls them off easily, and Laurance stiffens. He’s so tense; it would be ungentlemanly of Garroth to neglect to make him comfortable.

“Are you alright?”

Laurance nods.

Garroth takes a knee and wipes at the scrape on Laurance’s rear. He’s fit and trim and Garroth can feel the muscle under the skin. As he pulls the sponge away, red blood seeps from the breaks in the skin. “Damn it.”

“What?” He turns his head back to hear Garroth. He still looks strange without his long. . . Braids? Fairy-locks? Garroth doesn’t remember what Laurance called them. Now his hair is a dense fluffy cloud of bronze-colored curls that darken to black at his scalp. And Garroth  _ really  _ wants to touch it.

“It’s bleeding again. Some of the scabs have come off,” Garroth explains as he picks up a piece of linen and presses it to the skin. Laurance’s skin is warm under his palm, and his arse is. . . By the five, he has a lovely arse. Sculpted, muscular; the backside of a statue, really.

The blood appears to have stopped flowing, at least for now. “There we go. Sorry.” Garroth lets his fingers stroke the raised lines of the scratches.

He clears his throat, and his voice is a little thick. “Garroth?”

Garroth’s heart freezes like an ambushed stag, anxious and quivering. He picks up the basin and linens, stands up, and retreats to reorganize. Pour the water—damn, where is the bucket— oh, there it is on the floor where it has been  _ the whole time _ , how did he forget. Pour the used water into the bucket, fresh water from the pitcher goes into the basin, he’ll need the jar by his left hand and the vial on his hip—and now his face is burning again—this was a foolish plan, born of the thrill of freedom from Zane’s scrutiny. He should just go, and leave—

Shit. No. Laurance; Laurance is relying on him. He owes him Lady Aphmau’s life, twice over, as well as his own. This is the least he can do for a friend.

His fingers struggle to get a grip as his heartbeat pound in his cheeks. He breathes in, breathes out, and swears as he drops the knife. Reaching down to fetch it, he glances at Laurance to check if he will need more bandages.

“. . . Irene help me,” he breathes.

Laurance is leaning on the chair, contrapposto; the very image of a statue, perhaps titled something like “Youth in Repose”. But that’s not what drew Garroth’s eye.

Laurance is not entirely flaccid. And now, well. Neither is Garroth.

He straightens, watching Laurance cross his arms, looking bored. His pale gaze falls on him. Garroth knows he cannot see him, but it still feels as if he is being burned up. His armor is stifling and he is tired of hearing his own breathing.

He pulls off his helm and sets it on the table. It feels like freedom as he walks to Laurance, his view completely unobscured. Again, he thinks of a sculpture; he thinks of gently polished walnut and of dusty sea glass eyes and is enchanted.

He presses Laurance’s thigh. “Sit.” He obeys and Garroth kneels down, sliding his hand down Laurance’s leg. When he reaches his knee, he stops and swallows back bile.

“I’m going to have to cut off some dead tissue.” Garroth draws his knife. The blade winks coldly, impartial to its purpose.

He starts with the bandage securing the dressings, cutting through it from the side, to avoid doing any unnecessary damage. He lied when he said Laurance’s wounds were not the worst he had seen, and this one is the worst of them all.

Garroth steels himself for what is waiting for him under the dressing. As he removes it, he gags; the smell is fine, mostly the soft smell of damp sweaty skin, but it looks revolting.

The upper edges are dead and black and come off easily. It’s doing better, and though Garroth would  _ love _ to imagine it is due to clean and simple magical healing, under the dressing he’ll be faced with reality:

Magic isn’t easy to come by here and is expensive when it is found. And while Zoey and Kawaii~Chan tended to Laurance initially and made this wound much less severe, when Alexis needed their magical help, Laurance’s physical wounds fell by the wayside.

There are still plenty of things in the world that can clean decaying flesh more precisely than any doctor, and Zoey insists that all creatures under Yggdrasil have value, there’s a great balance, et cetera. In all honesty, Garroth’s attention was focused on keeping his lunch down when she pulled out a small box of  _ maggots _ than listening to her lecture on the connections between all living things. Someone like Kiki would probably find it fascinating.

All of that is to say: Garroth tolerates the maggots. They seem to have worked; there are only six or so pieces of black and leathery dead skin—which he easily removes with his knife along with the maggots—and much more wet red flesh. It even appears to be healed at the edges, leaving shockingly pale scars.

After cutting off a few more suspect pieces of skin, he places a dressing soaked in moon herb tea over the wound. It’s nowhere near as potent as the pure fresh herb, but in these scarce times, it is better than nothing. He draws out a fresh length of bandage, and secures the dressing to the leg. He looks up at Laurance and—gets an eyeful of his erection. Shit. Heat trickles down his sternum into his hips.

He leans closer to Laurance’s other leg, looking for something to distract him. It comes in the unexpected form of Laurance batting him on the side of the head.

“Ow! Whatever was that for?” He couldn’t have known Garroth was looking, could he?

A smile spreads across Laurance’s face. “Garroth? Sorry, thought you were a fly!” He touches Garroth’s head, petting his hair. “Of course, as soon as I’m blind you take off your helmet.”

Guilt thickens into a lump in Garroth’s throat. He owes him this much, doesn’t he? He trusts Laurance. He guides his warm hand onto his cheek and he watches Laurance’s face: the way his lips curl as they feel his nose and chin, and the way they part when Garroth pokes his thumb with his tongue. It tastes like salt, and Laurance’s lips press together as he swallows. His hand wanders to the side of Garroth’s face, long fingers tracing the shell of his ear. He touches the earring that once belonged to Vylad, and Garroth pushes his hand away. He doesn’t need to drag up painful memories at a time like this.

Garroth picks up Laurance’s leg, moving his foot so the heel fits nicely between Garroth’s legs. A little firm, maybe, but not too uncomfortable. Certainly not unpleasant. He dips the sponge in the bowl and wipes a scrape on his knee, glancing up at Laurance. His breath catches in his throat.

Laurance’s ice blue eyes watch Garroth, and in his lust-tinted mind he connects him to a fiery gorgon, turning his flesh to burning stone with a glance.

But. Something has changed. A subtle shift in their dynamic when Garroth moved him where he wanted.

A breath and Garroth settles. The flames die down to a glowing coal, bright fire in its solid form. He is no longer stone-still under Laurance’s gaze. He’s in control, and with his grip on Laurance’s leg and Zoey’s herbs, he will have him as soft as silk in his hands. Laurance deserves this, after all.

He rocks his hips against Laurance’s heel, indulging in the pleasing friction.

“Garroth?” Laurance’s voice shakes for a moment.

“Yes?” Garroth hums, keeping his eyes on Laurance’s very handsome legs. They’re strong and lean under his hands, and he focuses on easing some of the tension in them.

He presses his lips together. The lower one is a lovely shade of pinkish-brown. “What are you doing.”

“I’m cleaning your leg. Why, is something the matter?” Garroth asks innocently.

“No,” Laurance sighs. Garroth smiles, reaching down and taking up the vial of infused oils. He’s familiar with its ingredients and properties, having used it often to soothe sore muscles after sparring with his brothers back home. The memories well up too fast to stop—curly brown hair tied up with an arrow, forest green eyes shaped like their mother’s, a smile, a laugh—blood on the flagstones of the dining hall blood on Zane’s blade—

_ No _ . Now is not the time to think of him. Dwelling on unpleasant memories will only make life more difficult. Ingredients, yes, that’s what he was thinking about. Extract of peppers for warmth, wintergreen for a pleasant coolness. He uncorks the liniment and pours some into his palm. He rubs his hands together and lays them on Laurance’s thighs, paying attention to the bruise on the right.

“All this, for one bruise?” Laurance smirks.

Garroth kneads the oil into Laurance’s skin. “No.”

Laurance looks caught off guard. “What, then?”

“For you,” he says matter-of-factly. He swirls the warming oil behind Laurance’s knees, before pouring more onto his hands and spreading his fingers onto his thighs then squeezing, feeling the muscles flex under his dark skin. Laurance bites his lip and gets harder.

Garroth chuckles at how easily he's aroused. "Breathe, Laurance. That's an important part of relaxing." He almost can't take his eyes off of Laurance's erection. His own body is very willing to respond in kind, as his hands do their best to keep up the ruse of simply massaging Laurance as they get closer to his testicles. He shuffles closer, pressing himself against Laurance's leg, feeling bold enough to simply rock his hips and please himself.

Finally, Garroth's fingertips are close enough to make Laurance's testicles twitch; tucking themselves up close to his body like it's cold. Garroth breathes a soft sound of admiration.

"You fucking teasing bastard," Laurance hisses, eyes squeezed shut.

"Well, that's rather rude, Laurance," Garroth smiles, wrapping his hand around Laurance's erection. Laurance makes a very cute squeal of surprise, and Garroth laughs, embarrassingly aroused.

Laurance groans into his hands. "Garroth you horse's ass,  _ stop laughing! _ "

"What? It's funny." Garroth says. Laurance is very attractive like this, gripping the seat and turning his face away, biting his split lip. His toes curl on Garroth's belt. "Now, let's see what we have here..." Garroth starts to stroke the underside of the head, where he himself likes being touched. The head looks soft and sensitive, and it’s nearly the same shade of pink as his lower lip.

Garroth starts to stroke him, the pad of his thumb pressed beneath the head, the rest of his fingers stroking the shaft. He considers what he's about to do, thinking out his plan of attack. First, the tease: Garroth lays the head of Laurance's penis on his tongue. He smiles as he hears him gasp. Then, give him a bit more: He goes farther, relaxing his jaw and letting it rest on his tongue, getting a feel for the size of Laurance before closing his lips around the shaft. Laurance makes a strangled sound that goes straight down Garroth's spine. He rests his now empty hand on Laurance's upper thigh, thumb rubbing his hipbone.

When he moves his head forward, Laurance puts his hand on the top of Garroth's head, the heel of his palm against his forehead, holding him back. Laurance sighs, leaning back, and lets Garroth continue bobbing his head back and forth, slowly getting faster. He's deliberate with his tongue, making sure to keep his teeth off of Laurance. He works Laurance's ass with his hands. He's mostly muscle, not a lot to squeeze or play with, but Garroth doesn't mind.

Laurance is breathing harder now, and Garroth opens his mouth more, encouraging Laurance to slip into his throat. It is a singular sensation, like having tried to swallow a large bit of food, but being unable to. For some damned reason, Laurance stops him from going deeper. Garroth sinks his teeth into Laurance and drags his nails down his arse.

His hands let go and Garroth swallows, making Laurance gasp and tangle his fingers in Garroth's hair as if he's an unruly steed, as if Laurance is in control. “Ohh fuck, t-that’s so good,” he groans.

Laurance's heel isn't cutting it anymore; Garroth needs more friction. Sliding his hand down his leg, he pulls it against himself. He falls into a simple rhythm, rocking his hips as he bobs his head, occasionally swallowing.

Laurance groans, and that’s what tips the scale. The grip on his body softens as Garroth enjoys the warmth soaking his body like a warm bath. He’ll deal with the mess in his undergarments later.

Garroth intends to clear his throat before it gets bruised, but before the tip is even halfway out of his mouth, Laurance forces his face back again his stomach. Garroth’s eyes water from the impact.  _ Ow _ . He takes a moment to breathe through the pain as Laurance murmurs that he isn’t finished, and he pats Laurance’s thigh in acknowledgment. His hair is wound around Laurance’s spindle-thin fingers like a kite on a string and Laurance uses it to pull Garroth off of him, just until the head catches behind Garroth’s teeth. He takes the hint and starts fellating him again, but as soon as he finds his rhythm Laurance is pushing him back down again. But when he asks him to swallow, it clicks into place.

It is annoying that Laurance is being so pushy, so he gets a bite in before he swallows. Laurance dips his head and groans, body wound tight like the spring of a catapult. The tension in his muscles is fascinating and Garroth tries to note every detail as he carefully works his jaw and tongue.

The parts of Laurance that Garroth knows; his smile, his voice, the way he jumps when touched on the shoulder, had blended with Garroth’s hopes and fantasies into a clear vision of him at orgasm, sprawled in the chair and moaning. He is not as desperate and panting as Garroth imagined, but Laurance Zvahl is still a pretty picture, biting his lip and groaning. His stomach is tense, the muscles obvious under his skin, and his left leg is shaking. He probably won’t last long now.

“Garroth,” Laurance moans, both hands pulling on Garroth’s hair. He’s leaning over him, gasping as he climaxes, sweat darkening his curls. Garroth gags at the taste of semen in the back of his mouth and he spits into the bowl of bloodied water next to him.

“Holy shit, Garroth. Holy fucking shit. Mother of Irene.” His voice is weak, and his legs are shaking like a calf’s. He looks nice like this, soft and easy.

“Was that your first time?”

Laurance clears his throat, voice still uneven. “No, I just. . . how in Irene’s name does a man like you learn to do something like that?”

Garroth laughs, squeezing his thigh and beginning to gather up his things. “Gentlemen don’t kiss and tell, Laurance.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hugs and thanks to my three wonderful betas, [ Yesani](/users/CaptainYesaniChan/) ([Tumblr](https://tumblr.com/masterofanythingandnothing)), [Loud](https://tumblr.com/chaotic-little-shit), and [Moth](https://tumblr.com/mothmanyt)! <3


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